


Where I Belong

by m3110



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Romance, breton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m3110/pseuds/m3110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We've never done this to any extent that I can remember. There was one night, after an evening at the Drunken Huntsman, but that was so long ago. I was so drunk I couldn't even tell her what my own name was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where I Belong

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first public fic, pretty nervous. When I started this story, I was pretty set on it being just a fem slash piece of smut, to be honest. I tried, I really did. It just didn't turn out that way. For some reason, I can't write fem slash very intimately. So, you just get this... Thing. I'm not really sure of what it is. I thought it was okay enough to post on here, though, so yeah! Haha. But uh, I do hope you like it!

"Come on to bed, my love," She speaks to me from the bed, but I don't pay attention to her until her hands are at my shoulders, and I find myself leaning into her touch. "You always stay up so late..." I let her guide me from my place at the doorway, to sit on the edge of our bed. I run my fingers through the animal fur laid across the hay and frame, bear pelt, I think? No, maybe it was wolf... I couldn't remember, my mind was too busy running across other things.

"I can't sleep, Lydia." I close my eyes though, and my body is so tired that it gets hard to hold myself in a sitting position, so I allow myself to lay. My thoughts are still racing at a speed that I can't keep up with, and I rub my palms into my eye sockets, hoping to drive some thoughts out of my head.

My wife leans over me, kisses my cheek, my hair, my shoulders, and down my arm to my elbow. She takes one hand, and removes the red, fingerless glove I have forgotten to take off. She does the same with my other hand, but keeps it in hers after. I open my eyes to look down at our fingers. They're intertwined, so it makes the difference in our body sizes much easier to see. I'm a Breton, small and dainty. She's a Nord, built and strong, and much taller than I am.

She kisses each of my fingers, and I curl up on my side to face her. She shows me a soft smile, and I can't help but return it. "There's something you're not telling me, my thane."

"Oh, please. Don't call me that, like I'm higher than you or something."

She gives me a look, and I mockingly return it. "You are higher than me, Dragonborn, remember?"

I sigh. "Dragonborn-Shmagonborn. I hate being the damn Dragonborn." I pull one of the furs around me, taking my top off and sliding under it, curling up next to Lydia. She pets my hair.

"You shouldn't talk like that. It's an honor." Her mouth moves to kiss my temple, my bad eye, my jawbone, and down to my neck.

"Yeah. An honor to hold the fate of the entire world in your lap, right?" My face is one of disgust, but she doesn't see it. She's buried in the crook of my neck, making her way to my collarbones. I squirm.

"Shh, love, just relax. The world can wait until tomorrow." I let her win, and nod, making myself relax into her touch.

I'm nervous, though. She can tell. We've not done this before. I take that back. We've never done this to any extent that I can remember. There was one night, after an evening at the Drunken Huntsman, but that was so long ago. I was so drunk I couldn't even tell her what my own name was, not to mention that it was barely a week after I had become thane, and she my housecarl.

We vowed to never speak of it again, and proceeded to pretend it never happened. It worked for about another week, and we found ourselves together again, embracing and locked at the lips. Like most of those in Skyrim, we got married as fast as we could. Life is short, mine especially.

I was always away, though. Doing things for various Jarls, training with the Greybeards, or just trying to save my own ass after walking into a forgotten fort filled with Bandits and Draugrs.

To say the least, our love life has been everything but intimate. I don't let Lydia come with me any longer, it's too dangerous. She tried going once anyway, saying I couldn't do anything to stop her, because I was just a mage, no stronger than an elf. I was so angry at her then that I shouted at her, with my _Thu'um_. She flew clear from our Breezehome to the general store a ways down the street. I felt bad. Real bad. That was our first real fight.

This has led to us being separated a lot. Some nights when I'm alone, wrapped up under the stars, I yearn for her. I miss the feeling of her lips on mine, her hands on my waist. How I wish I could remember the feeling of those hands in other places, on my breast, between my thighs.

On these nights, however, my own hands have to make do, and the empty wilderness is the only thing that can hear me call out to her, desperate.

I'm home tonight, though. I know she appreciates it. She missed me, I know she worries about me.

"You've turned me soft, Breton." She'll tell me, then give me a kiss goodbye. She pretends not to see me tear up. I pretend not to.

I turn onto my back, and during my long thought process, she's managed to make her way to my naval. I tense and she stops, looking up at me with a worried look.

"Are you alright?" She asks, stroking a finger above my blind eye. I nod and she goes back to kissing me, placing her lips on mine. I immediately speed things up, turning her gentle, chaste kiss into a heated one, verging on rough. Common sense tells me that I should take things slow, but I don't. Something in my head keeps telling me that if I make things fast, it will be over faster, and I won't have time to mess up.

Lydia seems to have the same idea, because now she's on top of me, and I feel like I do those nights I'm all alone, and longing for her. This feeling is more intense, something I know I could never satisfy with my own hand alone.

I sit up underneath her, and kiss her torso, leaving a smudge of purple on her belly. I can't believe I forgot to wash that paint off, this is embarrassing. She pushes me back onto the bed, and that becomes the least of my worries as my head makes an audible crack on the headboard behind us.

Call it a concussion, but I laugh. I laugh so hard that I actually snort, and that makes Lydia laugh. We laugh together, because I'm acting very silly. If I can't make love to my own wife, how am I supposed to save the world? Exactly.

"Are you okay, love?" She asks me, and I notice that this is the first time I've actually paid attention to what she is wearing, or... Lack thereof, rather. She's in her underwear, as am I, which is a change for her, as she usually sleeps in an oversized garment of some kind.

The rest of the evening goes as one would expect. It's unlike anything I would ever have been able to imagine. She takes the lead, kissing me, touching me, and when I move to do the same things to her, she pushes me back down. Carefully. This proves to be a minor annoyance, but I let it slide. Let her do as she wishes.

After we both are laying side by side, covered in a thin layer of sweat, and almost all of my face paint on her end, she turns over to face me. I place my hand on her cheek, and she turns to it, giving it a gentle kiss.

"I love you." I think it's the first time I've actually said it to her, and I suddenly feel bad about it. She knows I love her, doesn't she? She must, she married me.

"I love you, too." She kisses me tenderly on the forehead, and I close my eyes, finally free of racing thoughts about Stormcloaks, Jarls, and Alduin. My mind slips into the comforting blackness of unconsciousness soon, and somewhere before that, I feel an arm fall across my waist.

Now, when I'm out and alone, making the all-too familiar trek up to the throat of the world, I know it's not here where I belong. Not at High Hrothgar, not fighting alongside the Stormcloaks. I belong at her side, laying in the warmth of my fur covers and her arms, wrapped around my shoulders.

I'm starting to believe that it is her who has ruined me, and not the other way around.

**Author's Note:**

> None of this belongs to me, except for my take on the dragonborn, I do believe. The rest of it is solely Bethesda, and I don't make any profit off of this, yadda ya ya.


End file.
